


Six Hours That Change Nothing

by helens78



Series: Six Hours [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Ray's last night in Inuvik, Fraser takes a chance.  Ray wishes he'd taken it sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Hours That Change Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



> This was inspired by a beautiful piece of artwork: [One Gentle Kiss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/139162). Many thanks to my last-minute beta, thursdaynext_27, for her hard work!

The night before I leave Inuvik, I can't sleep. I figured Fraser would turn in and I'd have a bunch of hours to kill on my own, trying to be quiet--maybe I'd catch up on my reading, ha--but turns out Fraser can't sleep either. That or if I'm not sleeping, he's not going to sleep, either.

So we stay up late playing chess, not saying much of anything. He offers to make coffee; I take him up on it, even though he's out of Smarties. No point having them on hand when I'm not going to be here. It's pretty good coffee anyway, and it'll keep us both up a little while longer.

One game of chess turns into a best-of-three contest, then a best-of-five, and after five games (I win, three to two), despite the coffee, I'm having some trouble keeping my eyes open. I head for the window; turns out in late May, up here, the sun just kind of dips down below the horizon for a little while, sky still pink and orange and purple, and then it's coming up again. It's like there's no such thing as night, not really--just enough of a change to tip you off that yesterday's over and you're standing in the middle of today.

 _Fuck_ today. I'm leaving today, going back to what passes for my real life back in Chicago. My flight's in six hours, and all I can do is think about how long I could last here. Six weeks? Six months? How long would it be before I fucked it all up?

I hear him get up from the table, and I'm this close to deciding it doesn't matter if I fuck everything up, I should ask him anyway, and I am just about to, I got my mouth open to say something when he puts both hands on my shoulders and all my thoughts just fly out of my head.

I stand up straight, pushing away from the window; his hands move down my arms, all the way down to my wrists, and he presses up close to me. He tucks his chin over my shoulder.

"Ray?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "Yeah, Frase."

So the first time Fraser kisses me it's on the neck, the side of my neck just under my ear. I shiver and lean back against him, and he gets an arm around my waist, holding me tight. I put a hand on top of his, and he gasps, squeezing me hard, pressing his whole body up against mine. I can feel heat radiating off of him like it did every night during the quest, but now it's more. He's pressed up against me from the waist down, too, and I can feel his hard-on against my ass, getting harder and harder by the second.

"I should have said something earlier," Fraser whispers; he runs his hand down my side, over my hip, down to my thigh. "God, Ray, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for waiting--"

"Shut up. Stop apologizing," I tell him; my throat's so tight I barely manage to say that much. I turn around so I'm facing him, and it turns out his eyes are shut and his lips are parted, and he's got this look on his face like right now everything hurts, just everything.

Yeah. I get it, Fraser. I get that.

"You been trying to get me into your bed since we got here," I joke, 'cause it's more or less true--for the first few nights we were here at the cabin, he kept saying _take the bed, Ray, please, you're my guest_. Like I could've slept a wink on sheets that smelled like him, thinking about what he'd maybe done in that bed by himself. "Giving it one more try for courtesy's sake?" Courtesy. I'd take courtesy; better than pity. And who am I kidding? I'd take a pity fuck, too.

But he opens his eyes, and he shakes his head. "No," he says, finally. He reaches up and rubs at his eyebrow. "No, probably the courteous thing to do would have been to let you get some sleep and let you go home un--unmolested."

"Unmolested?" I'm looking right at him and I _still_ cannot believe he said that word out loud. "You think I came out here to hang out with you _unmolested_?"

"Ray--"

"Jesus, Fraser, molest me already!"

It's kind of funny even though it's not, so I grin at him, and he looks up and catches that grin and gives one back to me, and suddenly his grin's coming closer and my heart's pounding like a drum. He opens his mouth up and I just fucking go for it, licking his lips before kissing him hard and tasting him for the very first time.

We don't break for air for a while; I let my hands roam all over his chest and his sides and his hips, and he wraps his arms around me and slides them down my back until his hands are on my ass. I rock forward against that grip, pressing my cock against his thigh, and he gasps out loud, jerking forward, shoving his hips against mine. "God, Ray--"

"What, you thought that was a rocket in my pocket all this time?"

He laughs, very softly, against my cheek. "Well, for a while I did wonder."

"Come on. Find out for yourself."

He goes still all over, hands on my ass, cheek pressed to mine, breathing hot and fast against my ear. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

One-room cabin, so thank God, the bed's not far. We stumble over to it, not taking our hands off each other, and when we get there, he shoves and I go down like a ton of bricks, falling on my back and looking up at him. He follows, spreading himself all over me, warmth and weight pressing me into the mattress, and I just groan and let my legs fall open and drag him down, getting a hand into his hair so I can hold him there and make sure he doesn't stop kissing me for a second.

"Ray," Fraser pants, and he says it every time he kisses something else. "Ray." Forehead. "Ray." Nose. "Ray." Cheeks. I finally reach up and stroke both hands through his hair, pushing his face up gently.

"Hey. It's me. It's really me. I'm not--" _I'm not going anywhere_ , I want to tell him, but it's a lie--I got six hours and then I turn into a pumpkin.

He catches my hands in his, though, and holds on tight to both of them. "I know," he whispers. He kisses my knuckles. "I know."

And suddenly it's not enough, none of this--I need to feel him, I need his bare skin up against mine. I pull my hands out of his grip and start yanking at his clothes--henley, _off_ , jeans, _down_. As soon as he recovers from his initial moment of shock, he starts pulling at my clothes with the same frantic, manic, half-panicked energy I'm using on him. Six hours and we can't afford to waste a single minute.

I used to wonder what he'd be like in bed. I spent a lot of time wondering. I'm not sure this is gonna tell me, because how he feels right now is desperate, rushed, like the first time is the last time and he has to touch everything, taste everything, get me under his hands and into his mouth as fast as he can.

I want to tell him _slow down_ , but I don't. He finally has all of his clothes off, and he's just working at my boxer-briefs and that one last sock, and when those are gone, he's on me again--I barely even got a look at him, but now I know what all that hot bare skin feels like. He's warm everywhere, warmer than I realized just from all those nights camping on the quest, and he's soft where I'm sharp, full where I'm thinner; he probably has thirty pounds on me. Ask me if I mind.

His hand goes to my wrist, thumb playing with my bracelet, rolling it up and down, back and forth, while I squirm under him. I spread my legs even wider, get my ankle hooked over his calf. "Fraser--c'mon, please--"

"I will," he breathes, "I will, I swear, Ray, but--I've wanted to--" And he draws my wrist up between us and breathes against the inside of it, soft and hot against my skin--Jesus fucking _Christ_ I didn't know my wrist had that many nerve endings in it, but I'm tingling, I'm tingling all the way from my wrist to my shoulder to my cock. And while I'm recovering from that, he licks me, there against my wrist, warm-rough- _hot_ and I can't stand it, I get my other arm around his waist and start rocking up.

"Ray--"

"Fuck me." I reach up, drag my fingernails down his back. He gasps, eyes slamming shut, and his grip on my wrist goes tight. But it's not enough, not what I need, and so I just keep rocking against him, chanting out "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" until he nods and grabs my other hand, too, and pins them both to the bed.

"Yes," he growls down at me. "Yes, I'll--"

"C'mon, say it." I grin. "You can say it. Won't kill you."

He breathes in and out a few times, real heavy, and then he bends his face down to mine, forehead resting on mine, lips just a breath away, and he whispers, "Yes, I'll fuck you," and it's a wonder I don't shoot off right then and there.

"Now," I pant. "Now, just--right now, _now_ \--" And I'm squirming again, trying to get his cock down between my legs, trying to get him inside of me like I can make that happen just by thinking it hard enough. _In me, now, right now, in me, in me, in, goddamnit._

He comes up frowning. "Ray, I don't have--"

"Fingers," I tell him. "Gimme your--here." I twist my wrist under his hand, and he lets me move it; he lets me pull his hand to my mouth, where I suck three of his fingers in and lick them all over, fast, sloppy. I can tell when he realizes just what I'm doing, because his eyes go nice and wide and he starts panting softly as he thrusts down against me. He moves his fingers in and out of my mouth, fucking my mouth that way, too, but being real easy, real gentle.

I don't want gentle, and I bite down on his fingers to tell him so. He draws them back before I can bite again.

"Are you sure--"

I nod. "Just do it. C'mon."

He does it, and he does it all by feel, reaching between us, between my legs, trailing his fingers down until he finds what he's looking for. His eyes stay right on mine as he starts pushing his fingers inside me, and I groan out loud and draw my knees back.

He uses his other hand to brush the hair off my face, and he keeps petting me gently as his fingers work inside me, as he opens me up. "Is it all right?" he whispers. "Is it okay?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "It's good, it's good, more, God, don't tease--"

"I'm not." He pulls back, away from me, all that warmth leaving, and I start to reach out for him before I figure out what he's doing. He kneels up and licks his palm and gives his cock a stroke, and then he does it again, slicking himself up one lick and one stroke at a time. And if I thought I was losing out on the view before, well, Jesus, this makes up for it. His cock's gorgeous--thick, uncut, long enough I could spend a week on my knees, just getting to know the feel of it in my mouth. The rest of him's pretty good, too: his skin's so pale it's almost glowing in the sunrise, he's got maybe a little hair at his armpits and a thin trail leading down to his cock, but almost none on his chest, nothing there but scars.

And all the time I'm watching him, he's stroking his cock and looking down at me the way I'm looking up at him--like he could keep on looking forever. Fuck. I push up onto my elbows, let my knees fall open. "Fraser, _please_ \--"

He just nods; he doesn't say anything. But he comes back down again and stretches out between my legs, and he's got one hand between us to line himself up. I have one split-second to feel him, thick and blunt between my legs, and then--God, he's there, pushing in, breaking me open, and I get both arms around his shoulders to make abso-fucking-lutely sure he doesn't go anywhere.

"Ray--God, _Ray_ \--"

"Don't stop. Jesus, don't stop now, fuck me, c'mon--" I move one hand up, twist my fingers into his hair. "Last chance, Fraser. Don't hold back on me now."

His head drops down, pulls against my grip, and for a minute there's nothing but the sound of his breaths and mine, harsh and loud in all this quiet. But then he nods, and he pulls my hand away from his hair. He takes my wrist in his hand again, fingers tight against the ball chain, and he pins me down and says, hoarsely, "I'm not going to hold back."

And he doesn't. His hips snap forward and he drives in deep, and I'm gasping, dropping down against the pillows, just breathing through it while he opens me up and takes me. And I think to myself, _that's it, take me, take everything, fuck me till there's nothing left_ \--"fuck, _Fraser_ , c'mon, _everything_ , Christ, yeah, please, _please_ \--" His mouth finally comes down hard on mine, and I don't know if it's to shut me up or if he just needs to kiss me again.

He breaks away and starts panting out some things, too--my name, over and over, and then "waited so long, God, why did we--" and "yes, _yes_ , oh God, Ray, please, always wanted, always--" and I don't want to listen anymore, don't want to hear it--I just want to feel him inside me and pretend it's never gonna end, pretend he's not fucking me this way because we might never see each other again.

And the minute I think about it like that, the minute I think about how I want it to last forever, I'm close--I'm not just close, I'm there, and I have enough time to babble out, "God, now, coming, wait--" before it's just--it's too late, he stops but it's too late, I'm shaking in his arms and coming all over us both. He holds me all the way through it, holds on while I gasp and pant and finally surge up and bite him on the shoulder, teeth sinking in hard. He jerks against me, but he doesn't move away.

I fall back on the pillows and try to catch my breath; his shoulder's red from that bite, maybe the kind of red that'll leave a bruise. I lick my lips and nod at it. "Think I left a mark."

He just nods a few times. "Thank you," he whispers.

"You didn't--" I shift underneath him, and he moans, hips rocking forward, burying himself a little further inside me. "You wanna?"

"Of course I want to," he whispers. He bends his head down and kisses me, and I kiss him back. "I just don't want it to be over so soon."

"Not much we can do about it," I tell him, and Christ, I wish I could take it back as soon as I say it. He closes his eyes and nods, and he doesn't get them open again. He starts moving inside me, hand tight on my wrist--maybe he's not the only one who's going to take marks away from this last night. After a minute, after he's had a chance to get his rhythm going again, he rests his head on my shoulder and starts doing me _hard_. Fuck, it's hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I can't let him see that--he might stop.

"Ray," he groans, and then he's done for--his rhythm goes all fast and sharp and desperate, and he's gasping brokenly against my shoulder, and yes, _fuck_ , he's coming inside me, holding me tight--holding me _so_ goddamned tight.

When he peels himself off of me and collapses next to me, I can't look at him. I can't. I just stare up at the ceiling and try to keep my eyes open, try not to think about how many minutes we've got left, whether either one of us is going to have anything else to give before I have to go.

"Ray?"

"Yeah," I murmur. He slides his hand onto my chest, and I swallow hard. "Yeah?"

"I just thought--" His voice is lower than usual, quieter than usual, which for him is saying something on both counts. "I wondered if--" He pauses, and finally starts saying, "Ray, if you wanted to--"

"Don't." Because I'd stay if he asked me. I'd stay when I got nothing to offer, nothing to give. Chicago's all I know. Being a cop is everything I've got. Empty that out of me and then what am I going to be? Like Fraser was in Chicago, tense and desperate but making the best of it?

I am not as nice as Fraser. There's things he can stand that I could never hold up under, and as he sinks down next to me, as he puts his head on my shoulder, I wonder if hearing me say _don't_ is one of those things.

"Do you want to sleep?" he asks, finally. I wrap my arm around him and shake my head.

"Not tonight."

"All right."

So I don't sleep, and he doesn't, either. We don't talk, but we're touching each other the whole time, his head on my shoulder, or shifting around so I'm facing him and we can run our hands all over each other's bodies, getting to look at everything, find out what _this_ spot or _that_ place feels like.

The bite I left starts fading, and I press my fingers against it. "Guess you're not gonna bruise after all."

"Whereas I think you might." He looks at my wrist. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't." I look down at my wrist, my bracelet wrapped around his marks, and I pull away from him, all of a sudden, leaving him with a confused look on his face as I sit up. But as soon as I've got two hands to work with, I can snap that bracelet off my wrist, and that's exactly what I do. I unwrap the strands and I grab his hand, and I wrap my bracelet around his wrist twice and snap it onto him.

He stares down at his hand, breath all shaky again, and I realize he's trembling. _Fraser_ is trembling. He looks up at me, and I shrug. "So you don't forget me."

It's all I get out before he's on me again, tackling me and putting me flat on my back. This time when he strokes his hands through my hair, I can reach up to his wrist and touch my bracelet, _mine_ , and I can get my fingertips under the ball chain and hold tight while he kisses me, while he grinds his hips down against mine.

"Me this time," he says. "I want--will you?"

There's a whole lot of words he left out of that sentence, but when he climbs off me and lies face-down, trying to spread his legs, I get it. I climb between his legs and press my face against the back of his neck. "Fraser--God, Fraser, I--"

"Don't," he says, quickly, and I guess it's only fair, it's his turn to say it. But I just nod, and I keep kissing the back of his neck, and when he reaches down to tug at my hand, when he sucks my fingers into his mouth and gets them wet, in my head I'm saying all the things he doesn't want to hear.

He lets my fingers go, finally, after a long, long time spent sucking and licking them--so long I'm almost gasping, here on top of him, long enough I know this is gonna work instead of just being pretty sure. And here, this--this I wasn't expecting, because when I push my fingers inside him, he just opens up for me. Opens up like he's been ready for this for--months. Or years. Or forever.

I spit into my hand and stroke my cock a couple of times anyway, wanting to give him a little extra, but when I press in, he just groans and groans and takes me. I sink in deeper and deeper, shaking, trying to hold him and be inside him and take _everything_ \--God, I'm a greedy son of a bitch.

And I'm greedy enough to move, to start moving as soon as he's got all of me. I'm moving and breathing hard against his neck, and he's moving underneath me and--shaking, still, like maybe he's not gonna stop. He turns his head and draws his hand up--the hand with my bracelet on it--and he stares right at that bracelet as I push into him, as I start needing more and start pounding into him.

I cover his wrist with my hand, squeeze so he can feel the bracelet biting into his wrist. He gasps and closes his eyes, and he grits his teeth together and says, "Ray--I can't stop, I can't--oh, _Christ_ \--" And there he is, shaking and coming underneath me, his wrist in my hand, his body trembling all over.

I bite down on his shoulder again, not because I'm close, not because I'm coming, but because when I had my mouth open to speak last he said _don't_. And it's not gonna be any easier to hear me say things now, is it? So I don't, I don't say anything, I just hang onto him as hard as I can for as long as I can, and then I'm coming, too, driving in over and over, gasping as I finally finish and collapse right on top of him.

I start moving pretty soon, though, figuring he's going to want to move or roll over or at least get out of the wet spot, but the second I shift, he tenses up all over and whispers, "Don't go."

I curl both arms around him as best I can, and I don't move. I don't speak. I'm tense, too, I almost can't breathe--did he--what does he--

"Fraser--"

"No, I--it's all right," he says softly, "you can move if you want to," and my chest twists up tighter than tight and I nod and roll off him, onto my back, closing my eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

 _Fuck._ I nod. "You want to sleep a little?"

He curls up with me, one arm around me, his bracelet shining on his wrist. "I don't want to be anywhere else," he says, which isn't a yes and isn't a no, and so my body wins this round and I fall asleep with Fraser in my arms.

* * *

Seven-thirty comes, and we're both bleary-eyed and sticky. I look at his clock, and he looks at it, too, and neither one of us says a word--we just get up and peel ourselves away from each other, and I look down at the floor and start gathering up my clothes.

"I think you have time for a shower," Fraser says softly.

I don't want a shower. I want to go home aching and sticky and smelling like Fraser and five hours of fucking like the world was about to end, and I really do not care what the rest of the plane thinks of that--the rest of the next four planes, Jesus.

But maybe Fraser cares. So I nod and duck into the bathroom with my duffel bag and make it fast, keeping the water cold so I'm not tempted to stay in here longer than I should--and so I'm not tempted to go out there and drag him back to bed for round three.

By the time I'm done, he's all dressed again, full red serge like he's going into battle or something. I just stare at him for a second and then shake my head. "Going in to work as soon as I'm gone?" My boots are still under the bed, so I head over and take a seat and start lacing them up.

"I thought it would be easier," he says quietly. "If I had something to keep myself occupied after you..."

"Yeah. No, it's a good idea. Good call."

He nods, Stetson in his hands. I rub at my wrist--it's weird not having the bracelet on. But I don't see it lying around, so--

"Did you--" He swallows and sets the Stetson aside, and he pulls his sleeve up. And there's my bracelet, still on his wrist where I put it, even in the serge--even in full dress uniform, he's got it on. His voice is real, real small when he asks, "Did you want it back? It isn't--strictly speaking, it isn't regulation, but..."

"Christ, Fraser, _no_." I get up and walk up to him, and I take his wrist in my hand and throw my other arm around his shoulders. "It's yours. I gave it to you. Keep it."

He puts his other arm around me, too, and he hugs me, he hugs me so hard, holding on so tight--he grabs a fistful of my jacket, and he just nods against my shoulder. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You don't gotta thank me." Because it's nothing, sixteen inches of hardware-store ball-chain, and it doesn't matter what I'm leaving him with--I'm _leaving_.

But I guess he thinks differently, because he brings both hands up to my face--I didn't even shave this morning--and he kisses me again. And that kiss says _thank you_ in a hundred different ways before he's done with me. What does my kiss tell him? _I'm sorry?_

Whatever it says, he's not complaining. But he lets me pull away, finally, and he lets me go back to the bed and pretend like I've got something else to look for. When I run out of excuses to stall, we head out to his truck, and he drives me to the airport.

The plane's already on the tarmac by the time we get there; I'm probably gonna be the last one to get on board. It's a small enough airport that there's no line, though, and they let Fraser go to the gate with me. He looks at the flight board--everybody on time, flight to Norman Wells leaving at 8:31 as scheduled. No delays. No last-minute excuses to keep me here. He looks out at the tarmac, at my plane.

"And that's it," I murmur. "Dot it, file it, stick it a box marked 'done'."

"Ray--"

"Shit." I rub my face with one hand and shake my head. "Sorry. _Sorry._ "

"You don't have to--"

 _\--go home_ , I think he means, and I look up at him, about ready to open my mouth and start begging for that. Caution? Brains? Who needs 'em--just tell me to stay, Frase, and I'll rip up my ticket and we can go back to the cabin, and we don't have to fucking leave it again until we run out of food.

But he finishes that sentence with "--apologize," instead. I nod, and he exhales softly and looks down at the floor.

"You know you're always welcome here, Ray."

"I know."

He looks up at me. "I have more leave saved up, if--" I shake my head and face away from him; he finishes his sentence anyway. "If you want to come back for another visit."

I don't say anything. What am I gonna say? _You bet, Fraser--how's next Thursday sound?_ Forget it.

So when I don't bite, no promises to come back this fall or next spring or any time at all, Fraser sort of sets his shoulders and lifts his head again. I can see the Mountie look washing all over him--for a split-second, he looks like the statue outside the Consulate instead of the guy I spent all night making love to, and it sends chills down my spine. That's not right--he's back here because in Chicago he was always like that, because out here in the snow he was finally alive again, and if I leave and he's right back where we started--fuck, maybe I should never have come at all. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed him last night in the first place, maybe--

He leans in, he tilts his face up, and I realize it's to get the Stetson out of the way. It's so he can kiss me before I leave, and Christ, yes, I'll take a goodbye kiss, only _no_ , God, how am I going to get on that plane if he kisses me before I go--

But all he does is put a kiss on my forehead, and I put a hand on his shoulder and I squeeze and I shouldn't, I shouldn't, because then I have to let go, and I can't, I just can't--

He leans back again. His eyes are all weirdly bright, and that smile on his face is so thin and brittle I could break it just by breathing on it. Outside, that is my plane out there on the tarmac, and it is taking me no place I want to be, and I have to go, I have to go.

I tell him that--the _I have to go_ part, not that it's taking me away from--that I don't want to--I just tell him I have to go, and he nods. "I know. Have a safe trip home."

I have a window seat on the plane; I can see the gate from here. I can see Fraser standing at the window--with his serge on there's no missing him--and he's watching the plane the whole time, right up to the point where we head for the runway and push into the sky.


End file.
